


Games

by spasticfingers



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dark, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 22:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16437797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spasticfingers/pseuds/spasticfingers
Summary: He liked to play too much and in the end, that was what destroyed him. He played games that he wasn't ready to play. He played with the wrong people. That was all, nothing else to think about.





	Games

He liked to play too much and, in the end, that was what destroyed him. He played games that he wasn't ready to play. He played with the wrong people. That was all, nothing else to think about.

Derek sighed, sitting down on the floor, next to the motionless body of his old friend Stiles. His face was calm, his eyes closed and his beautiful proportions following a perfect, easy harmony that could trick anyone into thinking that he was just asleep. Well, if it wasn't for the dark marks around his neck, probably.

What a silly boy.

And who would have thought that Stiles, their Stiles, was  _the other one_. Not him, for sure, but once he knew... Well, it was a kind of an agreement, wasn't it? Knowing was game over. Derek was just faster.

But who would believe that one of the terrible, sadistic serial killers that got all the people from Beacon Hills in the greatest of terror was Stiles Stilinski? The shy, innocent and kind Stiles. Maybe not that innocent, sure, not even  _actually_  kind, but to that extent...? Derek didn't have a clue.

He couldn't help a laugh. It was funny. In some twisted way, yes, but really funny. All that time, the long months, the little games, the hints, and at the end he's been around him all the time. His antagonist, his equal.

Derek passed his finger along Stiles's cheek, rubbing it carefully. He was starting to get cold. That wasn't bad, not at all. His hand moved slowly, caressing the lips, moving them and taking a look to those white teeth, going down, towards the neck, over the dark marks, pressing a bit here, a bit there, with a kind smile growing on his face. It was a game worth to play and he had been a good opponent. What a shame it was over now. He would miss it. Probably.

Derek had started to kill long ago. At first, it was dirty, chaotic. It was a surprise that he wasn't caught by then. Maybe New York's police should pay more attention. But the years made him improve. And Beacon Hills soon became in his favorite playground. Since he was a kid, Derek had enjoyed burning stuff and playing with dead things. When he switched to people, it only made the fun even better. But then was when the other one appeared. The memory made him clench his teeth.

Another serial killer. On the same city. It wasn't the weirdest thing ever, of course. That could happen, but Derek found it personally annoying. Disrespectful, he could say. It wasn't someone imitating him. That could have happened too and it would have been even more annoying and disrespectful, that for sure, but the fact that the other one had different methods, different targets, different signatures, didn't change the feeling of disdain in Derek's heart. It was an invasion of  _his_  territory, his playground. And he had never liked to share his things.

However, at first he was willing to ignore it. Let the kids play, he thought. The police would be twice busy, that was good for him. And probably the other one would fall sooner or later. And if by any chance he discovered that little shit in one of his nights... Well, he would get rid of him without problem.

Oh, but then that idiot decided to start the game. And this time Derek couldn't ignore it.

Contacting a journalist, sending something to the newspapers... Yeah, that happens. Some people need that kind of recognition. Being known by the public. Choosing yourself a stupid name to be called by... Not the things that Derek cared about. But the brat, the other one, thought it was a great idea to send a letter. However, it wasn't the kind of letter that was meant to laugh at the victims, make fun of the police or give them some clue... No, this one was another kind. A letter for  _him_. For The Werewolf of Beacon Hills, as the press liked to call him. Signed by 'The Prankster'. What a silly name. But maybe it made sense after all. It was widely known that Stiles enjoyed to surprise his victims and make creative works. Leaving some cards with funny faces in the scene was part of it too. And for him... Well, Derek got his name for the way he liked to play with dead bodies. Or at least he could guess that. He never cared about what the press was saying about him anyways.

But he read the letter, of course. He was laughing at him. Challenging him. Inviting him to a deadly game. The other one was arrogant, confident to some extreme. He made obvious fun of the police and proposed his rival to play with him. Easy rules. They were supposed to leave little clues for the other one to find. The first one to discover the other should kill him. No words, no negotiation. Just turning the killer into the victim. The city is too small for both of us, he said.

At first Derek decided to ignore that too. At the best, it was childish, at worst, a pathetic attempt from the police to catch him. He wasn't leaving clues for any idiot, murderer or not, so he kept his routine. However, in the next scene from the other one, the mockery appeared. The card with the sad face, the 'don't you wanna play with me?', the obvious teasing around the whole thing, like the way he killed his victim in a rough and shameful imitation of his own  _modus operandi_ , the way he was making fun of his tastes around corpses. That was a direct offense and something that this time Derek couldn't ignore.

And that was how the game started. He couldn't lie, it was amusing. The annoyance he felt at first turned into some kind of amusement and motivation. Leaving little clues that only the other one could understand, reading the ones left for him, searching for the guy, constantly taking a look over his shoulders because he could be near, he could be close to finding out... It made everything more exciting than before. But every game has an end. And Derek was clever enough to discover the pattern, to know where and when The Prankster would kill again and got ready to catch him and be done with it before even knowing his name.

The other one's fate was already signed that night. Derek knew what to do and he didn't hesitate... Not until his eyes saw  _him_. Oh, it couldn't be. Did he make a mistake? But no. Stiles was wearing a mask and black gloves, he had a bag where his toys should be (and they were, as he checked later). And above anything else, he was equally surprised at seeing him.

'Derek...?'

Everything was way too fast from that point. The shock on the youngest's voice, the confusion that enveloped Derek and made him slow, not attacking as fast as he would like. The moment Stiles took off his mask and called him by his name, as if he could still fool him, as if Derek was going to believe the fake innocence in his eyes. Stiles Stilinski was The Prankster, the other serial killer, the one who mocked him. Rage... That is what he felt. And like he's always done, he let the rage take control. The boy never had a chance.

‘Derek, what are you doing?!'

There was some fighting. Derek got punched by Stiles, who didn't accept the game over so easily. But at the end, when the rage takes over his mind, Derek always wins. He was like a beast in that state. He lost his knife, but he didn't need it. Both hands around Stiles's neck and in that same place, over the dirty floor, the boy took his last breath, moaning those words as his final statement. He tried to sound shocked and hurt as he fought to breathe, but it didn't work. No, there was only anger, surprise and some kind of resignation on his voice. 'You have won,' Derek could read on his eyes before their shine disappeared.

'I have won', he muttered when everything was done.

It was a funny game and an unexpected ending. Their Stiles was a murderer. The youngest one in the group of friends he kept as a way to seem normal was a serial killer. Exactly like him. Destiny seems to like to play some silly jokes. If things have been different, maybe they could have played together at that. It could be funny. But Stiles decided to defy him and mock his ways to go and that was something he couldn't forgive. The boy condemned himself with that letter. There wasn't any other way out.

Derek smiled a bit as he took off Stiles's t-shirt. That was a good place for it. The place his enemy had chosen to end his next victim's life. It was some kind of beautiful irony. Derek moved his hand slowly over Stiles's chest, enjoying the cold, soft touch of his pale skin. It was especially ironic if he thought of the way that Stiles, The Prankster, had always mocked the way he liked to play with dead things. Now he was one of the dead things. Now he was his toy.

With a bigger smile, Derek moved to sit over his victim's lap, one leg on each side, his crotch over the dead one's, his member starting to get hard.

'How does it feel, hm?', he muttered, leaning over Stiles and taking his face between his hands. 'Is it so funny now? So shameful? Would you like to laugh at me again?'

Of course, the boy didn't reply. He wouldn't do that, never again. Derek rubbed his lower lip, caressed his hair, slowly moved his hips against the motionless body under him.

'It was good to play with you. But it ends tonight. Don't worry, I will take care of you. I'll let them all know who you really were and how you lost. I think you would like that.'

Stiles has always been pretty. But now, pale, cold and dead, he was breathless beautiful. Derek didn't stop himself anymore. He caught the dead boy's lips and gifted him with a slow, deep kiss, his tongue moving around and exploring the youngest's mouth. The taste was aphrodisiac.

'I'm sorry, Stiles, but you shouldn't have tried this... I win. You know I always win.'

With a nervous hand, Derek untied his pants, kissing Stiles again, going down to his neck, his ear, his hair. The desire was taking over him and making his thoughts blurry. The best part of killing was that, always that. The fun of the night was just starting.

He carefully bit Stiles's earlobe and couldn't help but think about the other ones, just for a moment. Oh, true, the youngest friend will never be back. What a pity.

Derek laughed softly, kissing Stiles's cheek and moving towards his ear again, pressing his lips against it softly. His voice was full of irony, amusement and mockery when he talked, kindly, with a pretended sadness.

'What a shame, Stiles, we all are gonna miss you a lot!'

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all liked! Please, let me know your thoughts about it! ^^


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